Dating You / Hating You by Christina Lauren
“But Brad?” I remind them. “He’d be overjoyed to have a reason to toss another vagina overboard.”
“At least, a vagina he doesn’t get to play in,” Daryl interjects.
I laugh, but it fades into a wary groan. “Or maybe he’ll just lord this over my head for the next five months and not renew my contract.” I slip farther into my chair. “Oh! Not to mention the whole Carter thing.” I rub my hand over my face. “I finally meet a guy I like—a guy who’s straight and doesn’t live with his mom—and he was downstairs, in that meeting.”
“What?” Daryl’s eyes go wide.
I nod. “He was at CTM, remember? And it looks like he made the first cut. He works with us now.”
Amelia is staring at me in amused shock, but Daryl quickly recovers. “Okay, first of all, let’s all breathe. Breeeeeathe. Second, the Carter thing will work itself out. Let’s see—”
Daryl stops, and I know exactly what she was going to say: Let’s see if you even have a job tomorrow to worry about.
“Let’s see how everything plays out,” she finishes instead. “And third? We don’t even know whether Brad still works here. Nobody knows where he is. Kylie is MIA, too. If he’s not here, your agency record—minus a few tiny bumps along the way—stands on its own. Don’t count yourself out yet. I have a good feeling about this.”
God. Please let her be right.
• • •
I can only assume Carter likewise polished off a bottle of wine by himself last night and that’s why I didn’t hear from him.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
Suffice it to say, I am not the best version of Evie on Tuesday morning. My mom, who reads Variety and Deadline religiously, called about seven thousand times yesterday. I finally answer her call when I’m picking up my morning coffee at Verve, after maybe two hours of restless sleep.
“Evie, baby,” she says. “I’m on my way over.”
“Mom, no. I’m not home right now.”
“I’ll meet you. Tell me where.”
I sigh, sitting down at a small table in the corner. I don’t even need to ask what she’s thinking to know exactly how her mind works. “I don’t want you to come do my hair.”
My mom has done hair in this town for almost thirty-five years, her crowning achievement being the episodes of Dynasty in 1984 for which she was personally responsible for Joan Collins’s wigs. According to my mom, there is no problem a good blowout can’t solve.
“It will make you feel better,” she says, and I can hear the familiar theme song to Good Morning America playing in the background. To my mom, nothing fixes a bad day faster than fresh hair, a scalp massage, and the confidence of stiff hairspray. “I could give you a little trim? Your hair’s gotten so long and you know it has a tendency to look a little raggedy at the ends.”
“It’s going to be fine. I don’t need a haircut. Cut Dad’s hair. I love you. I’ve got to get in to work.”
Even if I have no idea what that work might entail . . .
My phone rings again as I walk out of Verve, coffee in hand. I have to look twice for confirmation when I see the name illuminated on the screen.
Carter.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” he says, and if I’m not mistaken, he, too, is mildly hungover and in desperate need of caffeine. “How are you?”
I want to laugh at his tone. It sounds a little like I feel: calm layered over a hurricane. “I’m good. A little . . . tired.”
“Tell me about it,” he says, voice rough. “I wanted to give you a heads-up that I’ll be at P&D this morning. I guess everything’s already been moved over, the computers, the files. Apparently, they did it all in the middle of the night after informing us of the merge, and informing the first cut of the . . . cuts.”
“Wow, that sounds . . . harsh.”
“Anyway,” he says, “I just wanted to let you know. I realize this is weird, to say the least.”
My heart gives a little jolt in my chest. Carter is such a nice guy. It makes all of this even more twisty.
“Well, at least I’ll get to see you today, then,” I tell him. “How’s everyone handling it on your end? Steph said the crew at Alterman went into panic mode thinking they’d get sucked into this.”
“I talked to Michael Christopher last night and joked that I might need to move into his guest room if my position gets cut,” he says, and I want to reach through the phone and hug him. P&D is pretty small, and notoriously cutthroat. “You hear anything on your end?”
“Not really. There was a company-wide email last night, but it was basically a rehash of what we already knew.”
He sighs. “That’s what I figured.”
“What about you? You doing okay?”
“I’ve been better.” He lets out a tight laugh. “I mean, I’m assuming I still have a job? Unlike my assistant. Which is why she wasn’t at the meeting yesterday.”
“Oh my God, Carter. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” he says. “Honestly, Becca was amazing. I’d be lost without her on a normal day. I have no idea how I’ll navigate through all this.”
I feel a little sick for him, knowing how I’d feel if I lost Jess, especially right now.
“On a brighter note,” he adds, “looks like I’ll finally be meeting the illustrious Brad Kingman.”
A metaphorical trapdoor has just opened under my feet. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Brad Kingman.”
“He heads up my department—Features, not TV-Literary.”
“I know,” Carter says, and I can hear the shrug in his voice. “But that’s what it said when they told me where to go this morning. My meeting is with Brad.”
chapter eight
evie
At five to ten, my desk phone rings. I keep my eyes on the monitor in front of me and exhale in relief when, after a second ring, it goes silent. Good, I think, finishing an email. I don’t want to talk to anyone today anyway.
There’s a knock less than a minute later, and I look up to see Jess standing in the doorway.
She nods toward the unanswered phone. “Despite the dark window”—she motions to the pane of glass next to my door—“I knew you were in here.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her guiltily. “Would you think less of me if I told you I was scared?”
She laughs as she steps inside, closing the door behind her. “Now that we have computer access, most people are on LinkedIn or Googling How to Survive a Merger.”
I press send before looking back up. “Though I don’t know what we’re all hiding for. Nobody’s even seen Brad, and yesterday was such a confusing shit show, I should feel confident that today can’t top it.”
Jess clears her throat and I narrow my eyes at her, wary.
“What?”
“Well, the reason I called . . .” She winces a little. The gold studs in her ears twinkle back at me beneath the fluorescent lights as she grips the back of the chair she’s leaning on. “He’s here. When you didn’t answer he called me. He wants to see you.”
“Brad?”
“Brad.”
I slump in my chair. “Well, fudge.”
“He’s been calling people in all morning and it looks like it’s your turn. Or you know, ‘Up to bat!’ as he would say.”
I groan. So he is staying.
• • •
Everyone looks up as I walk past on my way to Brad’s office. If he’s been calling people in all morning, who knows what they’ve seen? Relief? Tantrums? Tears? Anything is possible.
I rarely question my appearance anymore—a gift that seems to have arrived with the transition into my thirties—but with all eyes on me, I feel like an awkward model on a catwalk. I really should have worn my padded bra.
In my peripheral vision, a few heads turn, their attention lingering on something at the other end of the hall. I follow their gaze.
Carter.
His suit is charcoal gray and looks like it wa
His long legs close the distance between us in just a few strides. “Hey.”
I try to keep my gaze in the safe zone: on his tie. It’s blue with tiny green flecks and I already know that if I look up, I’ll see the way it brings out the color in his eyes.
Yup . . . it does.
“Hi.” I am hyperaware of all eyes on us. I mean, why wouldn’t they be watching this train wreck? I would. Not that they know I had his penis in my hand a few days ago, and now we apparently work together, but it’s probably written all over my face—
Or maybe they aren’t watching because of me at all. Maybe they’re watching us because Carter is a new, gorgeous guy in the department.
I feel an odd mix of possessiveness and unease.
“I’m just on my way to Brad’s office.” I’m eager to put some space between us and the office full of onlookers. “How did it go with you?”
“I don’t know yet,” he says. “Our eight a.m. was delayed. I’m on my way there now. Kylie was just taking me.”
And it’s only now that I notice Brad’s assistant, Kylie, standing a few paces away, nonchalantly checking out Carter’s ass. When she catches my eye, she steps closer. Carter smiles down at her. She smiles back, a hint of pink blooming on her neck and cheeks.
A direct hit. An eerie sense of foreboding prods at my brain.
Kylie clears her throat and walks ahead of us, stopping outside the door to Brad’s corner office.
“You can go on in.” She gives Carter a smile that lingers just past too long and verges on weird. Or maybe it’s only weird because I’m here, staring like she’s committing some grave offense by looking at him. “He’s expecting you both.”
“I’m sorry, Kylie,” I say, “did you say he’s expecting us both? As in . . . together?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know why?” My brain cycles back to the image of my hands in Carter’s pants. His come on my—
I shake my head. Brad would have no way of knowing any of that, but it’s the only connection I can make.
“Nope.” She looks at each of us in turn. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem at all.” Carter motions for me to lead the way. “Thanks, Kylie.”
“Any time.” She offers him an encouraging thumbs-up before whispering, “You’ll do great!”
You have got to be kidding me.
With an awkward cough, Carter glances down to the floor as I pass, and we both step into Brad’s office.
Brad Kingman has that air about him—you know the one, where it’s clear he thinks he’s a little better, a lot smarter, and leagues more connected in this town than you are. He also does that thing all the best intimidating people do where he stares directly at you when he’s speaking. When you talk—if you’re important enough for him to actually listen—he’ll make you feel like the most fascinating person in the world. But be ready: If you call, you’d better know what you want to say. If you come to his office, get it out—and quickly. He doesn’t do polite small talk and doesn’t schmooze.
But when Carter steps through the door, it’s like a Brad Kingman I’ve never seen before stands to greet him.
“Carter,” he says, grinning widely. He rounds the desk, reaching out to offer a hand. “It’s good to meet you, son.”
Son?
Carter’s posture tweaks initially as he’s taken aback, but he recovers quickly. “It’s good to meet you, too,” he says, shoulders straight, chin up, and grip strong as he shakes Brad’s proffered hand. He looks calm.
Good, he’s done his homework.
Brad claps him on the back and motions for him to take a seat before turning his attention to me. “Evie. It’s been quite a madhouse around here, hasn’t it?”
He pulls out a chair for me and I give him a smile in return. “It sure has.”
Circling back around his expansive walnut desk, Brad takes a moment to look at each of us in turn. “Have you met?”
I glance at Carter, offering a wan smile. “Yeah, we know each other.”
“See, this is what I’m talking about,” Brad says, “this is a team. Carter, I want you to know that Evie here has become my right-hand kid. Any questions you have, anything you need, Evie is the girl to talk to. Understand?”
I feel my cheeks warm under the simultaneous compliment and condescension of right-hand kid and the girl to talk to.
“Absolutely,” Carter says, glancing at me a little uneasily. “She’s been nothing but helpful so far.”
Brad raps the knuckles of one hand against the desk and leans back in his chair. “That’s good to hear. Now, if I had to guess what’s cycling through your heads this morning, I suspect there’s a bit of confusion about what’s going on—am I right?”
“Pretty much,” Carter says with a small laugh.
“I get that. I do get that.” Brad straightens, hands folded in front of him. “Evie here will tell you that I am all about playing as a team, Carter. And here at Price & Dickle we are only as strong as our weakest player. Isn’t that right, Evie?”
I say through clenched teeth, “That’s right, Brad.”
“Which means we need every player to be able to knock it out of the park. I brought the two of you in here together for a couple reasons. The first is that between the three of us, I think you two are the best we’ve got. I’ve heard a lot about you, Carter. It’s why I snagged you from TV-Lit—you belong in Features. You two can bring our department back into the game.”
He pulls two files from the bottom of a stack and opens the first.
“You started as a finance clerk at a boutique agency in New York?” he asks, and Carter nods. “And what did you learn from that?”
Carter shifts in his seat, glancing at me before returning his attention to Brad. I didn’t know this.
Obviously, there’s going to be quite a bit I don’t know. So this is a first: getting to know a potential boyfriend through a thinly veiled grilling session in our boss’s office.
“Well, of course I heard a lot of gossip,” Carter admits, smiling easily. “There are agents who act like anyone not involved in a negotiation isn’t really there. Because of that, I overheard conversations I probably shouldn’t have.”
To my own ear it sounds like he’s underselling for some reason, still keeping his cards close. If I’m right, Brad knows it, too.
“That’s it?” Brad asks.
Carter hesitates for a moment. “It’s a good way to learn how people handle pressure, observing it from the outside. You learn to catalog everyone’s reaction, anticipate who will do what when the shit hits the fan.”
Brad smiles, and because I know Brad, I can tell he’s amused by Carter’s casual swearing. By contrast, he would wince and chastise me for doing the same. I feel queasy. I knew Carter was charming but secretly hoped it had something to do with my wanting to bang him. Apparently not, because he’s playing Brad perfectly, too.
“Start at the bottom and take what you learn to the top,” Brad says, nodding.
Carter grins, and charisma seeps into the room. “Something like that.”
Brad scribbles down a couple of notes and turns to me. “Now, Evie here, she could talk a grenade out of exploding. That’s a skill you want to learn, Carter. Lots of people can be decent agents, but it takes a special one to spot talent, and an even better one to keep it. There’s been a stumble or two . . .” He pauses meaningfully. “But for the most part, she’s proven she belongs with the big boys. Hell, she’s trained some of the best agents in this town.”
I bite my tongue. It’s unlike Brad to hand out praise so baldly, and I brace myself, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Now, like I said, I think you two are the best we have, but I’ll be honest. I don’t know if we can keep you both—”
“What? ” we both say in uni
Brad holds up his hands, motioning for us to let him finish. “Your compensation is comparable—which is why I have you both in here—and I don’t know if P&D will have the room to renew both contracts. At least not here in LA.”
We stare ahead, stunned. I can feel my face going red, my stomach twisting into knots. I’m five years older than Carter and have been doing this job in one form or another since I was nineteen. Judging from what I’ve seen, Carter is probably a great agent, but he’s only lived in LA for two years and is new to features. Like, today new. In what universe is our compensation comparable? Because he’s a man? Who knew a penis was worth so much?
“Brad—” Carter begins, expression grim. I clench my fists at my sides and force myself to take a deep breath.
“It’s not definite that one of you will be shifted over,” Brad says, “but I’ll be honest: it’s likely. We’re all going to have to do the work and see what fits best for the new, combined Features team.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. “P&D is one of the most successful agencies in the country. How can it not keep us both?” I glance to Carter and back again. “Brad, look at my numbers, I outperform—”
“Minus your little speed bump with Field Day,” he says with a superior nod, and I straighten in my chair. Fuck him for bringing that up right now. “Listen, kiddo, the simple fact is that the movie business is down. Expenses are up. Cuts are made in this type of situation, and that’s just the way it is. You two aren’t the only ones this is affecting.”
I glance at Carter. He’s staring directly at Brad. “When you said, ‘Not here in LA,’ ” Carter begins carefully, “are you saying that if one of our contracts isn’t renewed, there’s a chance that individual would be offered a position in New York?”
Brad nods. “For sure there is a position in LA, and a spot in New York is always a possibility. Ideally there would be two positions here, but it’s too early to speculate on that. On any of it, really.”
We both sit there, silent. I stare at a glossy whorl of walnut that stands out in the section of wood grain just in front of me. It’s the size of my fist but takes up only the smallest fraction of the surface of Brad’s enormous executive desk. I wish I could press my finger to it, swirl, and flush this entire exchange down the toilet.